Steven Wong
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stevenhtwong.bsky.social
Steven Wong
@stevenhtwong.bsky.social
Moving here from Meta properties
April 20, 2025 at 1:03 AM
April 13, 2025 at 2:36 PM
March 21, 2025 at 3:10 PM
One set of rules for themselves and another for everyone else
March 20, 2025 at 12:33 AM
March 13, 2025 at 7:40 PM
Spring comes undeterred
March 13, 2025 at 7:40 PM
Got this adorable sketch of me in the mail. Was surprised and delighted!
March 13, 2025 at 12:07 AM
Impossible to get work done or concentrate because all the news headlines rumble like bombs in my head 💣💥🤯
March 5, 2025 at 9:06 PM
black humus. I look into that bucket with fascination because I am a farmer of sorts and an artist of sorts, and I recognize there an artistry and a farming far superior to mine, or to that of any human.”
February 16, 2025 at 3:07 PM
insects have flown into the bucket and died and decayed; bird have scratched in it and left their droppings or perhaps a feather or two. This slow work of growth and death, gravity and decay, which is the chief work of the world, has by now produced in the bottom of the bucket several inches of
February 16, 2025 at 3:07 PM
Rain and snow have fallen into it, and the fallen leaves have held the moisture and so have rotted. Nuts have fallen into it, or been carried into it by squirrels; mice and squirrels have eaten the meat of the nuts and left the shells; they and other animals have left their droppings;
February 16, 2025 at 3:07 PM
For what is going on in that bucket is the most momentous thing I know, the greatest miracle that I have ever heard of: it is making earth. The old bucket has hung there through many autumns, and the leaves have fallen around it and some have fallen into it.
February 16, 2025 at 3:07 PM
This quote from Wendell Berry helps me understand what I’m doing with our new intergenerational family.

“A battered galvanized bucket is hanging on a fence post near the head of the hollow, and I never go by it without stopping to look inside.
February 16, 2025 at 3:07 PM
My mosses have little moss flowers.
February 12, 2025 at 11:31 PM
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.
February 11, 2025 at 7:33 PM
The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
February 11, 2025 at 7:33 PM
I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.
February 11, 2025 at 7:33 PM
I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.
February 11, 2025 at 7:33 PM
To be of use

By Marge Piercy
The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half-submerged balls.
February 11, 2025 at 7:33 PM
I’m just getting used to it being Winter and these early signs of Spring show up.
February 11, 2025 at 3:18 PM
Now that’d be a real Gulf of America
February 4, 2025 at 4:01 AM
I have no idea about that. I think Bluesky is supposed to be releasing an Instagram competitor soon, so I’ll wait to see how that is. But for now here you go
February 4, 2025 at 3:58 AM
Happy Lunar New Year! Wishing you health and prosperity.
January 30, 2025 at 3:40 AM
Reposted by Steven Wong
This is probably what’s going to drive me insane in the weeks and months ahead.

Trump’s fascism is going to be presented alongside sports news and wordplay about new animals at the zoo, like all of this is normal.
January 24, 2025 at 3:02 PM
January 23, 2025 at 11:40 PM